מצטער (sorry)

That black stone of pain, is one that I made.
Swimming in your soul.
It’s an ugly product of how I behaved.
Dark as a lump of coal.
But I cannot erase, that blood or pain.
Or opening doors to fears.
But in my heart, I feel such shame.
Let me cry out my sorrowful tears.
And patch the wound with sincere light.
With apologies made in heaven.
That wrap around and bind so tight.
Crumbling that stone through my confession.

(To all, have a meaningful Yom Kippur)

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Beauty lost at the Heron house

The world collapsed in thirty seconds there.
A beauty aged in a moment while the rose petals died.
Who faded into the future, without the knowledge of the past?
We all did.
We came once to that spot, to watch the herons dance.
To see how they cast their wing’s against a backdrop of stars.
Through tears we watched them fly, soaring along our fingertips.
But we did not know, or care to wonder;
if they’d ever return.
And the days folded into years while the crows walked across our faces.
Milking our eyes into the blurred canvas before us.
Sight dancing into all but silhouettes.
What was destroyed there, at the Heron house?
Was it love? Was it power to hold in the wells of your hand?
Surely love never dies. Love always saves the day.
But beauty was lost forever there.
When it was valued more than gold, in hearts that feared to fly.

Places in my heart – the path

Singledust

IMG-20180805-WA0105 Bishop’s Trail Fraser’s Hill, Pahang, Malaysia

Be not afeard. The isle is full of noises. Sounds, and sweet airs that give delight, and hurt not – The Tempest, Shakespeare

walking a path takes discipline, of mind
knowing what we leave behind, we may never again see
not knowing what we will find ahead of us, is scary
yet we follow the path dutifully, why?
because someone walked it, before us
and dropped their thoughts, along the way
little directional pebbles

my mother once said
when we take a path for the first time
it will feel longer than when we take it the second,
or then on
there are spirits that inquire, with your soul
they need to know your purpose,
to give you safe passage,

walking my path,
spirits find me, but no questions are asked
just a brush of air, peeling one petal
of despair, each time I…

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Fossils

Caribou Crossings

I’m lonely and I miss you and it’s ridiculous because you’re not mine to miss

Yet even still there are

Ghosts of your lips upon my wrists
Shadows of your teeth grazing my thigh
Echoes of your voice in my ear
How we climbed our peaks, shouts reverberating across my hills as you plowed my valley late into the night

Whispers of your fingertips sliding across my hip
Stains of your handprints crisscrossing my breasts
Ashes smeared in trails along my throat
Reminders of your burning tongue, pressed-in memories hidden away that somehow burst open without my permission

My fingers itch to dial your number
My heart pounds to hear you say my name
My tongue dances behind my teeth aching to say the words: I love you, please come rescue me, won’t you hold my tears for safe-keeping

Surely, though, you knew all that already and that’s why I…

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This decision is mine

Try not to breathe, don’t let them see the fear in your eyes.
Trap those voices in formaldehyde, while you hope to swim away.
Try not to cry, they have never even thought of escaping.
Trapped in a prison of smiles, and a thicket of shadows.
You are the deer, so close to the earth.
They are the rocks that they sometimes throw.
Hoping to hit, scrape and bleed you.
Try not breathe, they will never hear through the distance you speed.
Crashing through the forest of fears.
Rising into the light.
Leaving tears in your path, only for the years you wasted.

I miss my ocean

Sand. Dirty sand and soil.
Dust in my mouth and coating this skin.
A film of sweat covers me.
Sticky heat and restless.
I miss my sea, the ocean that bore me.
Tranquil and deep like the pools in my mind.
To drift and meander across its aqua stretches.
Calms the blood that torrents through me.
I miss my sea, my ocean.
At times stormy, but full of life.
Threatening to pull me down to the ocean floor.
Where I can be alone, and able to heal.
The arid heat and air of this desert itches my eyes.
Scratches at the very thought of going on another day.
The salty air calls me back.
A maelstrom of reasons directing my compass.
To ride over waves and rise with Atlantis.
Reaching a trident back up to god.
So I shall make my way, and crawl back into the sea.
One which always welcomes and cherishes me.
Washing everything clean, and cooling my soul.
I miss my ocean.
I miss my sea.

Pieces

Pieces float in the blood.
A crimson river, drawing up to space.
Flowers smashed into oblivion.
Only to remain. As particles of dust.
Floating inside you.
Dusting your eyelids and tainting your tongue.
Lilies and lilacs lifting into a dream.
Lifting in the pulse and throb of the heart.
Blooming in particles while they orbit your organ.
That heaves and struggles to understand.
The demise of such beauty.

The Star tonight

Deeply spun, sugar turn.
On this memory in my head.
Eating lotus flowers in the sun.
It never rains.
Now, the canvas is self-populating.
While the bees buzz like poets in despair.
Always on, like an evangelical station.
Trying. Try. Tried.
Succeed.
The greatest to ever awaken.
All sussed out and ready to shine.
Like the weekend every day, and Friday in his eyes.
He doesn’t even need to try.
They may forget him in a turn of the page.
The turn of the screw of humiliation.
But they cannot forget how he made them feel.
Leaving lotus leaves and petals on the floor.
Climbing back to heaven.

Epiphany in bloom

Dark. Night.
Always black when our eyes are open.
The glittering of stars on our eyelids, just moments already gone.
We forget the gates are never shut.
Just hard to see in the dark.
A charcoal covering that we forget is all but soil.
Covering us until we choke.
But we are far from death.
We have a need in the seed we clutch in our hands.
The soil, this space is here for us to grow.
To bury us deeper, like the root that draws up from beneath.
We choose the season, for heaven remains.
Never locked, but moving around the sun.
We look inside ourselves and see the seed we wish to grow.
The worms and the decay, you have the chance to sweep away;
and breathe new air above.
Begin at the beginning, and sow the seeds of hope.
Water them with happy tears, and sweat from being tested.
From a warmth, not from the sun, but from a love invested.
In changing. In growing.
For all the world a knowing; that we create the garden.
We grow what we wish to see.
And they can smell like death or destiny.

View from the top

These sights wash these eyes like concrete.
Nothing moves me.
There is an absence of surprise now in my bones.
The world unfolds before me, much the same as it did yesterday.
Ashes never change.
It’s such a shame that everything stays the same.
And all these prayers go unanswered.
The wasted youth of trying to figure it all out.
Coming up empty.
Pots of fool’s gold and the things unneeded.
Yet bought at such a price.
The devil counts the souls as the sun goes down.
These conversations I have now, should be with myself.
Ten years ago.
Instead of to God.
Who always only ever laughed.

Love

Nobody knows what love means to you.
The bud of a rose in your life.
Or the darkness that creeps under the door.
You cannot convey, explain or say how it makes you feel.
As it fills your soul.
Or leaves you suddenly, like a bird taking flight.
Love sinks down into your DNA.
It washes over your desert like a great flood.
Trapping those grains of sand of you beneath its waves.
You will never put into words, how your love makes you feel.
Or when there are only ghostly embers of it, dying in your eyes.
Love, so relative.
And relatively unclear.

Come to disappear

More pain in her heart than a bomb over Japan.
She clicks her heels, but nothing happens.
More alone than home.
She darts into the traffic, proud and defiant like rhinos on the Serengeti.
This was her town, but from it now she runs.
Her tears falling like skyscrapers.
Down into the rain and the black streets of London;
that tries to coil around her feet.
The slinking snake of society.
She runs out, down and up into onto the lampposts until they change to trees.
And she feels the nature breathe back within.
The racing rats she leaves behind.
Throwing her phone and her tolerance into the trash as she departs.
This was never for her.
She comes now, out into the greens and browns that match her eyes.
Seeing the vista swim into view like a quiet paradise.
She comes here, to disappear.
She comes to survive.

Hate

The weight of hate, is too heavy to hold.
Lost in an illusion of lead turned to gold.
It deadens my heart with its poisonous grip.
Forcing my soul to abandoned ship.
So my ghost sails on, unfurling the rope.
That drags out behind, never snagging on hope.
Yet your lighthouse before me, beckons my fate.
You full of light, will surely banish my hate.

Leviathan

You might never know it’s there.
It’s been quiet for so long.
Dormant, but strong like indecision.
The Leviathan of the soul.
Lying in its own blackness, biding its time.
It’s older than you, it came before us all.
Moving and shaping like the clouds across the sky.
It does not seek the calm waters, or the tangerine days of summer.
It comes with the storms, the hurricanes of the heart.
When your bow is breaking, and you’re taking on water.
When you are barely holding things together.
Caught on rocks and the shallows of shame.
It seizes those moments.
Gripping you in its darkened grips of despair.
Blocking out the sun with its inky nightmare.
Pulling you down fathoms gasping for air.
To float forever in the torrid turpentine seas below.

Taken from Leviathan of the soul

London burning

Heavy scented air, the smell of ash and autumn.
Of change brimming like a supernova.
To watch only, yet still participate; leaves me shaking.
That blood on the sky, smeared into a ruby rose.
It stains my eyes and heart.
I watch as London burns with a fire of sadness.
Of a past ignited into nothingness.
But I’m not looking for someone to blame.
Those flames lick like a consequence that is buried deep in my hands.
Red and scorched like god’s eyelashes.
Choking out the hope and happiness.
It rages on, bringing ruins to our appetites.
Finally snuffed out by huge holy tears.

The fall will kill us both

Walking on this wire, I see the sea below us.
Cool and deep like the thoughts of mother earth.
Take my hand, there is nothing to catch us if we tumble.
Down into the shark filled ponds of loneliness.
Where our bones will turn to coral.
And you will dig down into the sand.
Foot follows foot as we walk.
Inching along the eggshell laden rope.
Banana skin memories drop like raining frogs.
I profit from my certainty, that these plagues are temporary.
Hold me if I slip, and I will catch you if you stumble.
Walking on this wire. We must be careful.
Because the fall will kill us both.

Leviathan: Of the soul – Out Aug 25th

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Out Aug 25th

Lurking deep within all of us, even those familiar to the stormy seas, dwells the leviathan. The monster in the soul which takes hold when the sun is so easily burnt out. It is the bringer of the darkness, the chaos and the nightmares. Threatening your little raft of life, cast out into the world.
Journey here out onto the sea of poetry and short stories that explore the waves of emotions, horror and sadness. But keep an eye on the horizon, for that little splinter of hope that breaks from the sky.

‘Leviathan: Of the soul’ is a poetry and short story collection covering topics of death, mental illness, suicide and redemption. Hold on against its onslaught.

joojo (1)